Counting Debts
by BlueNeutrino
Summary: Winter wants to help James, and James will repay the debt. AKA James Delaney can be soft when no-one is looking.
1. Evening

James hadn't expected to see the girl at his father's offices. Hadn't expected to see her again at all after she'd abandoned him on the rowboat, yet here she is when he hears the creaking of the door hinges and looks up from his work. Little mudlark in her black hat and long coat, once again seeking him out in the dead of night. It's a dangerous practice. He doubts her mother knows.

"What are you doing here?"

Winter isn't deterred by his harsh tone as she climbs the steps until she can stand in front of his desk, fixing her gaze on the leger and documents he has laid out before him. "Thought I could be useful," she says, and shrugs. "Man with the silver tooth not killed you yet?"

"Not yet. Do you have news of another assassin?"

"No."

"Then I have nothing for you. Go back to the brothel. Helga will be missing you."

"She won't. Too busy. The clients are in."

No wonder she's avoiding it. James grunts, then looks at the bags of silver gathered on the desk. "Can you do sums?"

"A little."

He takes one of the money bags and upends it so the coin spills onto the desk beside him like flour from a sack. "I need sixty three pounds. You know how many shillings are in a pound?"

Winter nods.

"Count them."

With a tiny smile of satisfaction, the girl crosses to take the seat across from him and begins stacking the coins into a fresh pile one by one. She looks amazed to see so much coin in one place. Maybe he should worry that she'll attempt to take a few. He doesn't.

The pair work in silence, until James finishes another page of his leger and crosses off another of the loans.

"Winter, once you have that sixty three, I need you to count out another eighteen and six shillings. Can you remember that?"

"Yes Mister Delaney."

They carry on.

A short while later, James catches her staring up at the rafters. She's peering at one of the landings in the attic space, cast into shadow and partly enclosed by a wooden balustrade. She notices him looking. "I used to sleep up there," she says, tone flat and devoid of the sentimentality he might have expected.

"Where do you sleep now?"

"Mistress found some new rooms. Not as big."

James just grunts.

Several hours pass before they finish. By the time he's done going through the contracts, James has totalled his father's debts to two hundred and fifteen pounds and seventeen shillings. At the last count, Winter had gathered two hundred and five. He's about to tell her to count the difference when he realises that behind the piles of silver, the girl is slumped in her chair, one arm resting atop the table and her head propped on top of it. Her hat is askew and she's breathing slowly. Deeply.

James heaves a sigh. He supposes he doesn't have to go back to the house tonight.

He takes a candle up to check out the attic first, though as expected, Helga's whores have taken most of the meager excuses for furnishings with them. There's a couple of sacks of straw that might serve as pillows, and a ratty piece of cloth that might once have been a blanket. It will have to do.

He goes back down to fetch Winter, picking her up gently in his arms and taking care not to disturb her as he climbs the stairs. She's small, and light, yet sleeping as heavily as the mountain of silver she's just counted.

He wonders if waking up here will make her feel at home.

James sets her down gently on the floorboards, lying down beside her and propping himself up against the sacks. There's no comfortable way to do it, he concludes, but discomfort is hardly something he's unused to. It doesn't have to be the same for Winter.

Carefully, he slides an arm under her shoulder again and tilts her until she can use his body as a pillow, her head coming to rest against his chest. It's hardly the same as a real bed, but no doubt warmer. Better than sleeping with whores and punters doing their business in the room next door.

Let Brace wonder where he is, for one more night. Let Helga wonder where Winter is, if she stops fucking long enough to notice the girl is gone. He'll keep her safe for a few more hours.

James turns his head to blow out the candle and closes his eyes.


	2. Morning

Winter wakes before James does. She spends only a moment wondering where she is, recalling that she hadn't gone back to the brothel last night, and a moment longer to realise that the man she's lying against is James. She doesn't have to look at his face to figure it out. Simple balance of probability and his scent is more than enough: tobacco and leather, and something else exotic that she can't quite place. Even through his clothes, his chest is warm, and the arm across her shoulders cosier than any blanket. Winter doesn't want to move.

His breathing is slow, and deep, and it's no wonder to her that she slept so soundly. Beneath her ear, she can hear his heart. She lies awake for many long minutes, listening, and marvels at the sound. It's deep and clear, reverberating through his chest like a drum, and she never knew the human heart could beat so formidably.

There's no change in the steady rhythm when he wakes, and she feels the rumble of his voice in his chest, startling her. "I know you're awake."

That might be a hint for her to move, but Winter doesn't. It's too peaceful like this—too safe. The feeling is unfamiliar and she isn't done with it just yet. "I can hear your heart, Mister Delaney," she says. James doesn't react. "I've never heard a man's heart before."

There's silence for a beat before he speaks again. "Take care if you choose to listen. It has a special power, the heart. You can claim that power for yourself, if you're brave enough."

"How?"

"You eat it."

It doesn't shock her. She doesn't know if he meant it to. "That what you learned in Africa?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm just mad."

That's when she looks up, frowning at his face as she wonders if he's mocking her. "I don't think you're mad, Mister Delaney."

"That's because you have more youth than sense." Without warning, he sits up, breaking the spell as she's forced to follow without the support of his chest. The attic suddenly feels colder. Alien to her, even though all reason says it shouldn't be. "Don't grow too enamoured with my heart, Winter. It isn't a good one."

 _I_ _think_ _it_ _is_ , she wants to say, but with him fully awake now, she keeps it to herself. "What special power does it have?"

"It beats even though I am dead."

Winter's face scrunches in confusion. Perhaps that was his intention.

"I have work to do," James says, swiftly changing the subject as he stands, and the floorboards beneath them give a familiar creak. "And you should get back to your mother."

"What do I tell her? That I spent the night with James Delaney?"

He looks at her, his gaze piercing, and she suddenly feels foolish. "If you want to frighten her."

Winter looks down. _Better_ _to_ _lie_ , she thinks and gets to her feet. She casts her gaze about for her hat and it's as if he reads her mind. "On the desk downstairs."

He follows her when she goes to collect it, then she tips it to him as she puts it on, compressing her raven curls beneath the felt. "Look out for the man with the silver tooth, Mister Delaney. He's still out there looking to stop your heart."

James places a hand on his chest. "He won't."

She's surprised by how unconcerned he seems, though he meets her eyes sincerely and seems to appreciate the warning. James lets his hand linger for a moment before lowering it and reaching for the pile of coins. He takes a shilling from the top and tosses it to her. "For your trouble. Run along, Winter, before your mother misses you."

With a smile and a nod of thanks, Winter leaves him be.


End file.
